Boy Meets Alien part II
by lies-d
Summary: Zim must deal with the consequences of his and Dib's earlier. . .mistake. (ZADR and ZAKR)
1. Prologue

Boy Meets Alien Part II :  Prologue

Year 3 of the Horrible Smeets

            It was a nice day.  The sun was out, but there were large clouds in the sky that served to block it before it got too hot.  The birds were chirping, but somehow they weren't that annoying.  The foul smell of the landfill nearby was intermittently curtailed by a westerly breeze and sent towards some other part of town.  

            Zim sat on a park bench.  Around him, the smeets and Gir scampered, dashed and otherwise ran around like maniacs, yelling and screaming and poking each other with twigs.  Around the neck of each smeet was a thin collar that was keyed to an invisible force field that prevented them from straying more than fifty meters away from their 'mommy'.  

            Zim had reconfigured the safety collars after a few of his craftier offspring had somehow managed to remove them.  He would have to do so again soon, before they figured out how to take these ones off, too.  Hopefully, he'd have a bit of time after they ran off a bit of their manic energy and were forced to sleep (a nasty habit they'd inherited from their earthstink father, but for which Zim was secretly, pitifully grateful).

            Zim sat and contemplated a new safety collar design. 

            A jogger, made bold by weariness and seeing only the bench and not the horrible cloud of manic youngsters surrounding it, sat down next to him.  He took a moment to catch his breath before looking over to look at his benchmate. 

            "Zim?  Is that you?"

            Lost in design-ey contemplation and not a little weary himself, Zim for the first time took notice of the man beside him.

            Wouldn't you know it – it was Keef.  Not a man so much as still a boy, he looked young even for his age – which must be about seventeen by now.  He leaned over grinning intently at Zim, which was slightly unnerving.  

            Zim inched away on the bench a little bit, hoping Keef would go away if he ignored him.

            "It _is_ you!  I knew it!  Wow!  It's so great to see you again, Zim!  Where've you been all this time?  Ms. Bitters said you moved away, but Dib said you dropped out of school.  Gosh, it just hasn't been the same without you!  How have you been?  I'm sure glad I met up with you today!  Would you like to go out for brain-freezies sometime?"  

            His lip pursed in annoyance, Zim pretended to be interested in a particularly yellow smog patch on the horizon.  One of the smeets climbed up on his lap and vomited off the side of the bench, apparently having eaten one too many spiny weeds.  Zim pulled a rag out of his pak and wiped its mouth.  

            "Alright, soldiers.  Recreation time ends in five minutes.  Prepare to return to base."

            The smeets took little notice of Zim, although many of them were beginning to become very fascinated with the red-headed stranger who'd wandered blithely into their midst.  A small crowd of smeets was gathering around him, standing immobile and staring.

            Keef reached over and patted the sick smeet's back.  "Wow, are you taking care of _all_ these kids, Zim?  That's really nice of you.  Whose are they?"

            Zim swatted Keef's hand away.  

            "They're _mine._  Don't touch."

            "WOWW!  You're a daddy, Zim?  That's SO cool!  I love kids!  I wish I was a daddy!  Who's the mommy?"

            Zim gritted his teeth.  "_I'm_ the mommy, and as for the 'daddy', my mate has abandoned responsibility for our co-offspring."

            By now an eerie silence had descended over the park, all childish shrieking temporarily on hold as the smeets stood in silent contemplation of their visitor.  A few had begun to poke at his ears and eyeballs with sticks.

            "You're a mommy, Zim?  Wow!  I didn't even know you were a girl.  Too bad about the daddy.  Does that mean you're taking care of them all by yourself?  That's really brave of you.  You must be busy, and tired."

            "No!  I'm fresh as a zellip-bloom and I've got steaming piles of free time, but actually, I'm being sarcastic and I just thought you wouldn't understand because you're stupid, so go take your stupid self somewhere else to be stupid so that I can go and. . .keep on being busy."  Zim gathered the sick smeet in one arm and stood up.  He blew a tiny whistle that made no noise the human ear can sense.  The smeets yelped in pain.

            "Company, prepare for march!"  Zim blasted the whistle until the smeets had formed two orderly rows.  

            "Kip!  Natt!  Plunk!  Spoot!  Your turn for rides!"

            Four smeets shrieked with joy and hopped onto Zim's legs, two of them sitting on his feet, two of them clutching his thighs.  

            "Wow, you really are busy, huh, Zim?  Maybe I can help with your kids.  Then you wouldn't be so busy and I could spend some time with you."  Keef stood up.  "I could. . .walk you home.  And. . .help you put them down for a nap.  I bet they're all tuckered out from running around, aren't you kids?"  Keef smiled broadly at the smeets, who nodded vigorously and looked to Zim, eager to see where this would lead.

            Zim rubbed his chin, considering Keef's offer.  

            "Acceptable.  You can start by helping with rides."  Zim looked Keef up and down.  Although Keef couldn't compete with Dib – who'd recently become nearly as tall as his father, he was still a couple of heads taller than Zim.  Pleeeenty of limbspace.

            "The rest of you – Keef here is generously donating rides today.  HOP ON."

            A collective cheer rose up from the smeets, who piled onto Keef until only his eyes could be seen peering out from a mountain of squirming young irkens.  

            "Gosh, Zim.  They're a little bit heavy."

            "You get used to it."

            Zim pulled a small remote from his pak and punched a few buttons.  There was a short buzzing noise as the forcefield deactivated. He nodded and began his smeet-hampered walk towards the base.  Keef was able to laboriously make his way only a few steps behind him.

            "I think one of them's trying to eat me."

            "Yeah, they'll do that."

            And on they walked.  It was a nice day.


	2. Grilled Dib with BBQ Sauce mmm

Author's note:

Okay, once again thanks to everyone for all of your lovely reviews!  It really does motivate me to write faster when I know think of all the people waiting for the next chapter.  J  (this one took so long because I lost the original file and had to re-write the whole thing.  sob)

In response to those who were wondering (deady, AnEchoOfTime, and Kippixin to name a few), this story will contain both ZADR and ZAKR, although I will refrain from commenting on the proportion of each.  Don't worry – Dib doesn't just go away.  He's got an even bigger role in the third part of the story arc. 

Oh yeah, and the legal stuff:  Zim, Dib, Keef, etc, don't belong to me.  All hail Jhonen Vasquez and ptooey on Nickelodeon.  Blah blah blah don't sue me I have no money.

Chapter 1

_By modifying the sub-phase metaphyllaxionalharmonic transmission pattern of Berlmanhoff's spectral transduction quantifier mechanism to a rate of L=437x10 -29833 per cubic inch of the manifestation and reintroducing the Meldantio-Vechs Pattern (v.3.6)  test results to the induction loop via the spectral reintegration unit coordinate analysis mechanism _with _the sub-modifier indicated by his earlier meta-quantum string/wave experiments, Dr. Ansil-Freizennord produced the first reliable (5.32%) method of determining trans-sub-spectral flux coordinate variations within a class 3 Ingma-Pralenn Manifestation.  _(see tables 2.4a -14.3d)

            Dib took off his screen-goggles and rubbed his eyes.  The text and tables were starting to swim in a haze of numbers and complicated theories.  He'd read them all before anyways, but he was still no nearer to completing his end of term research paper than he had been when he came out here yesterday.  His dorm roommate was a total waste-of-space jock studying on a sports scholarship who'd decided to have an impromptu party over the weekend.  Not wanting to deal either with the party or the resulting mess and hangover groans, Dib had fled to his old room at his Dad's to get some peace and quiet.

            He _had _to get this done by Monday.  He'd given himself the whole weekend to finish it because Theory of Spectral Physics was his hardest subject, but he had four more essays to hand in over five days next week, and he couldn't ask for an extension because the week after that was nearly as bad. 

            He'd gotten permission from the Dean to take an overload of courses again this term.  If he played his cards right he would graduate in July after taking a few summer courses, and his early acceptance letter into graduate studies had already been framed and hung over the faux-fireplace mantle by his Dad.  At the rate he was going he'd be a Ph.D by the time he turned twenty-two.

            The past six years had been nothing but a blur of schoolwork to Dib.  After graduating when he was seventeen he'd gotten advanced standing at the state University of Science and buried himself in year-long studies.  By then paranormal studies had been nominally legitimized by a group of Swedish scientists and consequently been introduced as a field of study in his university by a handful of over-zealous physics professors sick to death of teaching their usual shlock to their usual shlock-students.  When the end of his schooldays finally came Dib would be able to call himself Dr. Dib, expert in Paranormal Studies – his reward after only five or six short years of slavish toil. 

            It's strange how the mind can bend and twist itself to avoid snapping altogether in times of stress.  Dib hadn't seen Zim in six years, had barely even thought of him, except in the most peripheral of ways. 

            One day, when Dib was still fourteen, Zim had packed up his base and disappeared, smeets, GIR, and all.  Dib had spent weeks trying to find him, but wherever he was he'd actually taken pains to hide himself well this time, and couldn't be traced.  For all Dib knew he had left the city, possibly the country or even the planet.  On his last night of searching, Dib had wandered for hours on the outskirts of town in a wide-eyed stupor.  He'd already half given up, but some terrible fire inside of him refused to let him admit defeat. 

            He could still _see _that horrible smirking face, that strange, lithe body underneath his uniform, the skin that felt like nothing else on earth ever could.  His own desires, at that point, were still unnamable to him, but they burned inside of him with a terrible force, chaotic and uncontrollable.  He felt as thought he were being immolated from the inside out. 

            There was nothing in the world he'd ever wanted more than he wanted Zim.  And after eighteen hours of desperate searching, body and mind sick with pain and exhaustion and the memory of all that had happened, Dib realized in a moment of clarity that more than anything else in the world, Zim was the one thing that he would never, ever have.

            In the suburb park where he found himself he dropped to his knees and vomited, and for awhile his mind went blank and soon he was back at home, cleaned up and tucked into bed, and the last few years seemed like just a bad dream. 

            When he woke up the next day he realized that he'd been neglecting skool very badly.  He had a number of assignments due and _by golly_, he'd better get them done.  He had a lot of catching up to do, and the prospect of getting a good grade was suddenly very appealing to him.

            And on it went. 

            Dib had been up to his hairline in homework ever since.  He didn't even have the inclination to think about anything else.  When he found out from Gaz that Zim had been bringing the smeets over regularly during school hours for a checkup with Dad, he never tried to stay home and see them.  When his father mentioned in passing that Zim had set up another base on the southernmost edge of town, he never even considered going out to look for it.  He'd even been caught in his room during a few check-up visits – heard Zim's voice downstairs once:  _Alright, smeets!  Line up for medical examinations.  Zoon first. . .'  _

            And Dib had thought to himself, calmly, _I think it's time to go for a walk.  _Out the window, past the yard, down the street and into the nearest library to bury himself in research.  It really was best to avoid all the fuss and commotion that followed Zim and his offspring like a cloud.  You could hear the ruckus they made from more than a block away.  If Dib stuck around Zim would just get mad and start insulting him and the smeets probably wouldn't even know who he was and Zim wanted it that way and it's not like Dib really cared anyways. . .he was busy, and stuff. 

            Like right now.  He was so busy with his assignment that he didn't even notice the sound of Zim's monstrous van pulling into the drive.  It was actually some sort of souped-up spacecraft badly disguised as a van, and it made a whirring, hovering sound instead of the sound that normal earth vehicles make.  It was pretty distinctive if you knew what you were listening for, but Dib wasn't really paying attention.  His mind was so engrossed in contemplation of metaphyllaxionalharmonic transmission patterns and Ingma-Pralenn Manifestations that he didn't notice that the Earth taskforce of the Irken Armada was upon him until he heard a loud crash (probably the television being destroyed) and a telltale chorus of evil giggles.  And Zim's voice.

            "Don't start trying my INFINITE patience now, offspring!!"   It came from downstairs, but even that was still too close for comfort.

            _Yep – it sure is time to go for a leisurely stroll._  Dib calmly closed his file, stacked his infopads, and tucked his slender computer into a nook in his shelf.  His hands had started shaking a bit after he'd heard Zim's voice – the same thing that had happened last time, although Dib couldn't imagine why. 

            Going out the window wasn't so strange, really.  Dib used to do it all the time when he was a kid.  What else was he going to do if he didn't want to use the front door?  He _could _use it if he really wanted to, but it would be. . .inconvenient just now.  And using the window was easy, really, it only hurt a little bit on the last jump down onto the lawn.

            Dib had one leg out on the ledge when his bedroom door swung open with an ominous, unnatural creak.

            _Why can't you just leave me alone, Zim? _ Thought Dib, as one of his eyes twitched.  He turned to face the invader with as straight a face as he could muster.  Hopefully he could get out of his quickly and just leave. . .

            But as it turned out it wasn't Zim – it was just some kid.  Or, at least it looked like just some random kid.  Logically, Dib realized, this was one of his and Zim's unholy offspring.  He'd heard that his father had invented some kind of holographic disguise for Zim's kids to use, but he. . .actually. . .hadn't. . .seen them since they were born. 

            The disguise was surprisingly good – anyone else, even upon close inspection, would have assumed that it was just a regular human boy standing there in Dib's bedroom doorway.  He was engrossed in his Gameslave 3000TM, earphones on so that no outside noise dare interrupt his game.  Dib thought he must just be looking for a quiet place to play his game, when the smeet reached over with his thumb to pause it. 

            With a belaboured sigh, the smeet tore his eyes away from his game to look up at Dib, his lips drawn into a sour line.

            The kid lifted one eyebrow slowly, and Dib realized how silly he must look, one leg out the window, ready to jump out.  With an embarrassed cough, Dib lifted his leg and brought it back onto the carpet. 

            "Ever noticed how nice it is just to sit on the window ledge sometimes?  Heh heh."  Remarked Dib lamely.

            The smeet's eyes narrowed in annoyance.  "Riiight.  Whatever."  He replied.  

            _Pretty cheeky for a six-year-old.  _Thought Dib.  He crossed his arms.

            "So.  What are you doing up here?  Did you get lost or something?"  Asked Dib, patience already gone. 

            Frowning, the smeet took off his earphones.

            "I've got a question for you.  Are you our biological dad?"  The smeet asked point-blank, looking Dib coolly in the eye. 

            Dib resisted the urge to make a flying leap out he window.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd been expecting this, but that didn't make it any more of a situation he wanted to be in.

            "I. . .ah. . ."  It took Dib a moment for his mind to regain functionality.  "I. . ." 

            The smeet stared up at him expectantly.  Dib looked down at his feet.

            "Yeah.  I sort of am."  He finally answered.

            The smeet nodded curtly.  "Let me see your hand."

            "My hand?  Why - ?"  Dib looked down at his hands, but didn't have time to inspect them before the smeet stepped forward, grabbed one of them, and held it palm-up in a surprisingly strong grip.  Before Dib could even ask, the smeet jabbed him once in the palm with a pen-like instrument, released the hand, and stepped back to his spot by the door.

            "_Ow!!_  Hey, what the - ?  I'm bleeding!  What was that?"  Dib rubbed his palm and took a step back from the hostile smeet. 

            "Stop whining – it was just a DNA test."  Said the smeet as he inspected the side of the instrument, presumably for the results.

            "Well, geez!  If you were going to take a DNA test, why did you even both asking?"

            "To see if you would lie about it."  Replied the smeet calmly.  Satisfied with the results, he tucked the instrument away in one of his pockets.

            "So, was it rape?"  Asked the smeet, relentless.

            Dib had barely had time to get over the unexpected DNA test attack – this was completely out of left field and his mind reeled with shock. 

            "No!!!!  Are you crazy?"  Dib answered after he regains his powers of speech.  "I would never - !  Is that was _Zim_ told you?"

            The smeet shrugged.  "Mom won't talk about it.  Neither will Grampy or Auntie Gaz.  All we know is that Mom _really _hates you, and from what we can tell, you really hate Mom too.  It was a fair assumption."

            Dib shook his head.  "No.  It wasn't.  And I don't hate your mom.  It was just. . .it was. . ."

            "Save it.  There's only so much I want to know."  The smeet put his earphones back on and headed out.

            "Hey – wait!  Where are you going?  I just. . .I want to. . .can't I at least explain?"  Dib reached out just as the smeet got to the door.

            The smeet stopped and took off his earphones for a moment. 

            "Look."  Said the smeet.  "If you have anything else to say, save it for someone who cares.  I'm only here as a representative of my siblings – I didn't even vote for this, but it was my turn in the crappy errand rotation and the others wanted to find out.  So don't go making any grand confessions because I already asked the questions they gave me and there's nothing else I wanna know."

            Placing his earphones back on, the smeet left.  Dib could hear him muttering '_Geez, who gives a wet squidgy, anyway?' _ in the hall as he left. 

            Dib stared after him for a moment before returning to his desk.  Dejected, he sat down and put his screen-goggles back on.  He looked at a few number tables for a minute or two before ripping the goggles off and standing up to pace the room. 

            This was outrageous!  How could he have sat around doing homework for so long while his kids didn't know whether or not he was his their dad – didn't even know the slightest thing about him.  For all they knew he was some slobbering rapist and nobody wanted to even talk about it and tell them different.  He could just imagine the impression of him that Zim had given them. . .

            He was their _dad.  _To hell if Zim didn't want him around.  In fact, to hell with _Zim._  There was no reason to sit around hiding from him like this – burying himself in homework and running scared every time they were within the same city block. Why should he be afraid of that little runt anyways?

            For the first time in six years, Dib let himself think openly about Zim. 

            _Zim_. 

            Dib stopped him his tracks.  He was breathing heavily.  His face was flush.  His fists were balled and he realized that he was angry, and he actually hadn't been angry in a long, long time.  It was such a familiar emotion – like stepping into an old favourite pair of shoes, lost for years in the back of the closet. 

            He was alive again.  Bring it on.

            With a determined grin, Dib left his room and headed down the hall towards the stairs and the chaos to which they led.


	3. Brief and Painful Encounter

Chapter 2

Dib's momentum waned when he hit a veritable brick wall of smeets at the bottom of the stairs. Actually it was more like a hornet's nest, but it was equally impassable. A handful of them were lined up in an orderly fashion, waiting to go downstairs and see Professor Membrane, but most of the others were scrambling around in some sort of game that, as far as Dib could tell, involved knocking as many things down as possible in a crude effort to awe your opponents with your agility as you climbed switfly over the mess with your spider-legs.

Some of them had their holo-disguises on, some of them didn't. The ones that didn't still showed a disturbing resemblance to Zim, except that they seemed to be growing at a rate that was more normal for humans. Only six years old, they were already nearly as tall as he remembered Zim to have been.

Gaz was sitting on the couch engaged in a linked Gameslave match with four of the smeets, including the one who'd just a few moments ago been upstairs grilling Dib. Presumable she was minding the rest of them, but she seemed to be approaching this task with the same apathy with which she approached most things in her life.

Dib looked out at the churning sea of smeets and drooped against the stair rail. How would he ever get to Zim through this mess? And had he really thought he could. . .talk to them, or something?

"Ros! Your turn!!" Called out a familiar voice. Dib peaked out from the stairwell.

It was like an old movie or something. All of the peripheral noise died down and through some sort of tunnel vision everything else in the room fell away – all Dib could see was _Zim_, standing at the living room entrance, glowing with inner radiance, or possibly Vaseline on the lens. After staring for a full minute or two Dib shook his head back to reality – any second now a choir was going to start singing, and that would just be no good.

Zim's disguise had changed quite a bit since Dib had last seen him. He wasn't wearing a holo-disguise like his kids, or at least so Dib assumed since his skin was still as green as ever. Apparently Zim was supposed to be a girl now. His wig was shoulder-length with a curl at the end, and the little pillbox hat and matching dress he wore made him look like some sort of midget Jackie-Kennedy drag impersonator. He even had ears now – except that they were clearly just dangling from his hat on green string. They waved and wiggled whenever Zim moved his head, and looked more like earrings than ears. Dib bit his lip to keep from laughing.

In all of the terrible ruckus, it was clear that Zim was still the one in charge. After calling out for Ros a few more times, Zim stopped to record something on one of the many com. pads hanging from around his waist, then leapt into the fray on his spider-legs and emerged with the errant smeet tucked under one arm in some sort of wrestling hold. He marched/half-carried the smeet out of the room towards the Professor's lab, and Dib could almost physically feel his sudden absence.

"Hiya Dib!"

Startled, Dib spun around.

Keef was standing right beside him on the bottom stair – thought how he'd gotten there Dib didn't know. He was smiling insufferably and holding one of the smeets in his arms. The smeet was apparently a little sick, judging by the wan look on its face.

"Gee, Dib! How are you doing? I haven't seen you in a long time!"

"Keef!? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just helping Zim out with his kids. Little Vip here isn't feeling to good. But your Grampy will give you something to fix you right up, won't he, Vip." Keef smiled down encouragingly at the smeet in his arms, who in turn could only manage a weak nod.

"I've been having so much fun since Zim started letting me help out! They're such great kids!"

Vip leaned over and puked on Dib's shoes.

"Uh. Yeah."

"Oh, gosh. Here, could you hold him for a minute?" Keef plunked the smeet into Dib's arms, then pulled a handful of wipes out of the large purse on his shoulder and proceeded to clean up the mess.

Vip looked up at Dib apprehensively. Dib looked down at Vip apprehensively.

When Keef was done he had the mess all wrapped up in a ball of paper towels. He flagged a passing smeet.

"Hey, Mott – could you take this for the garbage for me? Thanks, big guy."

Gathering Vip back up in his arms, Keef plucked a tissue out of his purse and gently wiped off Vip's mouth.

"Sorry. . ." Vip managed weakly.

"Shhh. That's okay." Keef leaned over to kiss Vip's forehead. Glancing over warily at Dib one last time, the smeet turned to bury his face against Keef's shoulder.

"So. . .how've you been lately?" Asked Keef, turning to Dib with a sunny smile.

"Um. . .okay, I guess. Going to school. And yourself?" Dib replied absently, looking across the room for Zim's return.

"I've been great! Been going to school too, up until last month. Remember that career test we did back when we were kids? On the strength of that, I got a scholarship to Mrs. Bunty's College of Middle Management."

"Yeah, that's great, Keef."

"Yep, it was really fun until I flunked out. Lots of great teachers and cool classmates. But I didn't have enough time for classes because I was over helping Zim most of the time, but I thought 'oh well' – you've got to have your priorities, right?"

"Mmm–hmm. Priorities." Where the hell was Zim? Dib craned his neck over a pile of tussling smeets to see the top of the stairs where Zim would be arriving at any moment. That's right, any second now. Could be. . .now. Or. . .now. Aaany second.

"Zim lets me sleep on his couch most nights. I told my Mom I've got a late shift at MacMeatie's, 'cuz she'd just worry if she knew I didn't have a job. I'm not worried, though. I think things are gonna turn out okay. It's just my Mom – she can be like that sometimes. So, how's your Dad? Hey – he's single, right? My Mom's single too – wouldn't it be funny if we set them up?"

Dib looked over at Keef. "No. That's. . .horrible."

Keef chuckled. "_I_ think it'd be pretty funny."

"FOSK!!! Your turn!" Yelled Zim from the other end of the room.

Dib's heart leapt like a frog from a dynamite pond. On instinct he started towards the object of his newly rekindled desire, but took two steps into the room and tripped on one of the smeets' extended spider legs.

He flew threw the air like an eagle before landing on his head like a really stupid eagle.

"Zim! Wait!" Shouted Keef as Zim was about to go down the stairs with the ever-obedient Fosk. Deftly, he made his way past the savage horde to where Zim waited with his hands on his hips.

"I think we should bring Vip down next. He's really not feeling well." Keef presented the ill smeet to Zim for inspection. Nodding, Zim waved Keef down the stairs.

"Very well. But come _right back up_. My offspring need PRIVACY for their medical examinations."

"Sure, Zim." Keef said as he descended towards the infirmary. "And I think Dib wants to talk to you." His voice rose up one last time.

Having hit his head rather badly on the way down, Dib lay docile on the floor, looking up at the ceiling and into the faces of a few smeets who'd stopped briefly to poke him.

Another body came into view, glaring down at him with a sour look on his face and crossed arms. This one was. . .beautiful. Sublime, even. The little birds chirping in Dib's head began to sound sweeter.

This one was also wearing a dress. And standing rather close.

"What do you want, stink-beast?" Zim asked as calmly as he could.

_I see __London__, I see __France__. I see Zim's. . ._

". . .Underpants." Slurred Dib. A few of the smeets tittered.

"You want underpants? You mean you're not wearing. . .?" Zim's jaw tightened and his left eye twitched. He bent over and grabbed ahold of Dib's collar, pulling him up to speak to him face to face.

"I'll _thank_ you to keep your sick. . .filthy. . .self away from my offspring in the future, or you'll wish dearly that all of your nerves were orbiting the moon instead of inhabiting your hideous, earth-stink body." Zim hissed. He was so close Dib could feel the end of his tongue whisp against his nose as he spoke.

With that Zim drew back his fist. . . and Dib was thrust a little further into the velvet darkness of concussionland.

####################################

"By observation of the subject's response-state. . ." 

". . .and careful calculation based on the study of standard human physiology. . ."

". . .we have ascertained that subject Dib is not quite conscious."

"Not _yet_, my precocious little grandchildren. My AMAZING concussion-concoction TM-pending needs at least ten minutes to work its marvelous wonders, and the dose of Brain-Damage-Be-Gone will take at least another five. OH, the IMPATIENCE of YOUTH. Hahaha!"

"Gosh – that's quite an ow-ie. Will he need a band-aid? I've got some right –"

"KEEF!!! The smeets loading into the cruiser need supervision so HURRY UP AND GET OUT THERE!!!!"  
"Sure thing, Zim! I'll be right there!"

"Fosk! Natt! Zoon! Senn! Goom! Mirk!!! Whatareyoudoingsittingaround??!!? We're _leaving! _ _NOW!!! _

"These four can stay here with me, Zim. We're in the Zone."

"Grampy has informed us that we may stay. . ."

". . .to make use of his lab until suppertime."

"That's right! Today's lesson will be – how to make fun, fruit-flavoured snacks out of _common household_ _cleaning products!_"

Dib groaned. There was too much loudness going on here. It was interrupting his dreamless, near-coma stupor. Bits of sound floated up into his brain like flotsam. He was aware that somebody had been poking and prodding him a moment ago, and in the back of his mouth he could still taste the vile concoction that had been forced down his throat. He was sitting up – someone must have propped him against something. His head hurt. Things were getting a little clearer, but not by much.

"Hmmph. Very well. I think I'll be taking my leave before the Dib-stink wakes up. Have the smeets delivered to Keef's mother's house by 6 of the clock– we'll be eating there tonight."

_Keef's mother's house – 6 of the clock. Keef's mother's house – 6 of the clock. _Dib's mind had an instinct for crucial information – he snatched onto it like. . .some kind of. . .metal trap.

_Keef's mother's house – 6 of the clock. . . . . the white rabbit biscuits, doe-see-doe. . .in closing – ass-over-teakettle, by God. . .the officer's tea club. . .frowney-pants' daily itch. . .solo-by-the-sea. . .none of it, now, donkey – sputnik, tuba concertos. . .WHY all the turnips??! WHY??!! _

Uh oh. . .there's the door to insanity again. Best wake up. . .

Dib opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh light. It was quiet now, save the frantic click-clacking of thumbs on video game controllers nearby. He blinked a few times, testing out his consciousness. He seemed to be fine – his head didn't even hurt that much.

"Zim?" He called out weakly.

"Shut up, Dib – you're ruining my concentration." Replied Gaz, from where she still sat playing with a small group of smeets.

"Where's Zim?"

"He's gone. Now _BE QUIET._"

"Gone? Where – ?" Started Dib, but he found he already knew – _Keef's mother's house, 6 of the clock._

The TV remote came sailing through the air to hit Dib square on the head.

_Good aim. _Was the thought that ran through his mind before he fell over again.


	4. A Very Awkward Car Ride

Author's note:

Okay, so not only is ff.net being touchy about reviews, but apparently my yahoo account is randomly swallowing up emails too. Thanks very much to peplos kore (aka flying metal child), who among others helped bring this to my attention. liesdeeyahoo.ca is indeed my email addy, but it's randomly deleted/disallowed at least three emails already, and those are just the ones I know about (and it's not my filter – I checked that). So. . .if you want to send a review by email, but find it won't send, or I don't respond (I'm going to try to get thank-you notes out regularly from now on), please, do try again. I'm going to switch to another account soon, which I'll be announcing at the next chapter (which will be posted in a few days).

(also, thank you AnEchoOfTime for catching those spelling errors. I very much do appreciate it.)

Shameless plug:

I highly recommend 'Joined at the Dib' It's written by theunsquickablekid, who also happens to be both my betareader and my fiancé. (The unedited version is available at adultfanfiction.net under the same title and author.)

Chapter 3

"So, ah, which way to Keef's mom's house again?" Dib smiled nervously at his passengers – the six smeets who'd decided to stay at his Dad's house for the afternoon.

No answer. Four of them were still deeply entrenching in their interconnected Gameslave 3000 tournament, wires running across from the front seats to the back in his Dad's mini-van. Dib wasn't sure, but he thought he'd seen one of them who'd actually had an outlet in his _head _that connected him to his game console. The other two were crouched in the back, occupied between them with something that fizzled, glowed, and smelled of burnt hair – frankly, Dib didn't want to know.

"Keep going about fifteen blocks until you reach Elm Springs Lane, turn right on Lane Springs, keep going for ten blocks to Spring Elm, turn right – pull into Elm Lane, drive all the way down and it'll be right there on the left." Came a voice from the back.

Very helpful. Dib thought he could probably muddle through anyways. Frankly he was too nervous to ask again.

"Um. . .you guys have dinner at Keef's house a lot?" Asked Dib after an appropriately long, uncomfortable silence.

A lone cough from the back, and nothing more.

"Hey – you ever notice how all the houses out here look the same? Isn't that funny?"

You could almost hear crickets.

Finally, there was a long sigh, and Dib thought he heard the sound of four Gameslaves being paused. There was a bit of shuffling. . .and an odd conversation Dib could only hear in snatches:

"I did it _last _time. . .it's Vinn's turn. . .Natt, you're closest on rotation. . .but our _experiment!. . ._you've _always_ got an experiment. . .I call an emergency vote. . .vested interest - Fosk, you can'tpreside. . .okay – for: three, against: two, abstain: one. . .so noted by Mirk. . .meeting 117b. . .tough luck, Natt. . .don't worry, he doesn't bite – he's just stupid. . .I think it's rather plain why he's such a disappointment to Grampy. . .stop whining. . ._you _stop with the 'stop whining'. . .

There was another shuffle, and then, of course, the sound of four Gameslaves restarting.

"Hey – do you guys all have your seat-belts on back there?"

One of the smeets came forward to sit in the passenger seat and obediently buckled his seat belt.

"Grampy has personally designed this vehicle to be 114.2 % fatality-free, but if you insist on such perfunctorities I suppose I don't have the authority to dissuade you."

The smeet looked resolutely forward, as though monitoring Dib's driving. This made Dib even more nervous. He coughed anxiously. The smeet sighed and turned to look at him.

"My name is Natt and I've been assigned to be your co-conversationalist during this trip. By my calculations based on your current speed I estimate we have about ten minutes until we reach our destination. Please feel free to direct any relevant questions, declarative statements, or inane chit-chat to me while we wait because I can assure you my siblings won't answer."

Dib's eyebrows raised involuntarily. After the initial surprise he was actually quite relieved – one clinical and standoff-ish smeet who would talk to him was better than six condescending and probably-hostile smeets who seemed determined to ignore him.

"O-kay. Um. . ." Dib wiped one sweaty palm on his pant leg. He could go on with the 'inane' small talk, or he could take the opportunity to ask the questions he really wanted to ask – broach the subject that he was, absurdly, almost scared to approach.

"I, uh, I was wondering. . ." Dib swallowed. "How are you doing?" It seemed like a standard question, but after six years of non-contact with his children, the answer now would mean very much to him.

"How? Please, redefine the question. How what? Happy? Healthy? Well-adjusted? And does 'you' refer to myself or myself including my siblings?"

"Um. . .everything, I guess. For both you and your siblings. How. . .well are you doing?"

The smeet shrugged. "Aside from a few instances that Grampy has dealt with competently, we are all physically healthy."

Dib nodded. "Good – that's good."

"We are not, on the whole, terribly well-adjusted to our situation – school, family, society in general, but taking into account _both _sides of our parentage, this is probably a terminal genetic condition."

"Oh. That's. . .not so bad, I guess. It doesn't have to be bad."

"I agree. Grampy says true greatness cannot be achieved through conformity."

Dib smiled. "Sounds like something Dad would say. I'm glad, that you get along with him so well." Thought the corner of his eye Dib saw the smeet nod and smile.

"And as for happy, well, I can't really speak for any of my siblings. But _I _am, at least. . .content."

Dib nodded again.

"So. . .how's your Mom?" Dib approached the question casually, but a tiny tremble in his arm made the van swerve ever so slightly.

"Mom. . .is Mom." The smeet shrugged again. "Strained, stressed, and at most times physically drained, but as far as we can tell, healthy. As completely unadjusted to this planet as one could expect of an invading non-native." The smeet looked away. "Happy – well, from what we can gather Irkens weren't designed to be happy. For Mom, I suppose, all that really counts is the mission, and right now the mission goes well. We snuck a peek at the last report written for our Tallest, which stated that our development was progressing very well, and that Mom was, well, quite proud of us."

Dib looked ahead, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that was welling up inside of him. He pictured Zim. . .stressed and strained, looking after this flock of rambunctious, smart-assed kids day in and day out. He supposed that if it was a job for anyone it was a job for Zim.

It was good that they knew Zim was proud of them – he'd always thought Zim would be the most horrible parent on earth, but if he'd done that much for them he must be doing alright. Dib had lived his whole life wanting his Dad to be proud of him.

Zim was probably doing a good job, all on his own. Well. . .with what little help he had. . .

"So, um, what's the deal with Keef? Is Zim keeping him as a maid or something? I mean, is he. . ." Dib didn't really know what to ask about Keef. Something about that guy bothered him, something about the whole situation bothered him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He seemed so harmless, and he was sure Zim would handle him appropriately if he ever got annoying, or bothersome to the smeets. Dib was just really resentful that he'd spent so much time already with Zim, that he knew all of the smeets by name. . .as though he was as a replacement for what Dib should have been. But it wasn't as thought Keef could ever replace Dib – he was just so pathetic and creepy.

"Does he take care of you guys. . .alot? And, do you like him?" Dib finally asked.

The smeet smiled. "He does spend a lot of time tending to us – almost as much time as Mom does. The time he does spend at the base is of his own free will, so no, he isn't a maid. He probably would more, if he didn't have to sleep. And at last vote, yes, we do approve of him – almost unanimously. He is. . .very kind. We like that."

Dib snorted. _It's probably all an act for Zim's sake. _ He thought bitterly.

Finally, the smeets pointed out Keef's mother's house coming up at the end of the block – another cookie-cutter home on the edge of suburbia. Natt jumped out as soon as the vehicle stopped – Dib didn't even have time to thank him or anything, but he waved while they all piled onto the doorstep, and in the dim light coming from the house he thought he saw one of them wave back.


	5. A Mess at Keef's Mom's House

Chapter 4

"It's so _nice_ to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around the house again." Keef's mother gushed across the table at Zim, a smeet hanging from each arm, three clutching her legs, one swinging from her hair.

Zim snorted. "Craziness runs in the family, I see." The comment went unnoticed by the doting woman.

"I mean - that adorable way they just wolfed down their food like itty bitty cutesy, wootesy little trash compactors." She caught the nearest smeet by the cheeks and pinched for all she was worth. "I love them! I love them all! I could just eat them up! Crunch up their little bones between my teeth and slurp up all their entrails!"

The smeet shrieked and dove onto Zim's lap, where it lay curled up and shivering.

"Yes, little one." Said Zim consolingly. "I'm scared too."

Keef's mother grinned charmingly around the table.

"More pie, Mr. Moose?"

"Squeeek!" Said Minimoose. The hostess put another piece onto his plate.

Most of the smeets had been assigned to eat at various TV-tray stations both in the kitchen and in the living room, but they'd all finished early enough to begin trashing Keef's house before Zim could finish eating and stop them.

They had dinner at Keef's house at least once a month, but there were always new things for the smeets to tinker with because after each visit Keef's mother was forced to replace the furniture and/or appliances that they'd destroyed. The resulting debt had caused the woman to take out another mortgage on the house, but oddly her only concern whenever they came over was whether or not they would like her cooking. A bit of craziness indeed ran in the family.

"I was telling Keef the last time he had dinner at home that he _needs_ to settle down and get a nice girlfriend – "

"Oh, Mom!"

"-Good grief, that must have been sometime last week – he spends so much time over at your house. Not that that's a bad thing. I'm so glad that Keef finally has a good friend – you know for the longest time we thought he was, well, just sort of. . .defective was the word Grampa used, but I told Grampa – 'now our little Keefy just has a bit of trouble making friends. Nobody ever said he had to be a social butterfly.' But now he's twenty years old and he's never even had a girlfriend and I, well, I want to hear the pitter patter of little feet around the house someday – "

"I'm only twenty!"

"And the family thinks he might be turning out, you know, _weird_. But I tell them that's not _really _that weird. I don't know. Do you think that's weird, Zim?"

"Huh?" Said Zim, lifting his attention away from his third piece of pie. It _was _ pretty good – as is should be for the amount of meticulous work his hostess had put into it.

"Not having had a girlfriend _ever._ I mean, _everyone's _had a girlfriend or a boyfriend by now. It's just _unnatural._ It's kinda _weird._"

Zim shrugged. "Whatever. That's just one more thing I DON'T HAVE TIME to worry about."

There was a tremendous crash in the next room, then the sound of breaking glass and glooshing water as one of Keef's mom's fishtanks was knocked over.

"HEHEHEHEHEEEE!!!! We're all going to be electrocuted!" Screamed Gir.

Zim gulped down the last piece of his pie and got up.

"ALLRIGHT, SOLDIERS!!! Recreation time over!! Fall in!!" Storming into the living room, Zim pulled out the cattle prod that was the only thing that helped since they'd all gotten entirely too good at de-activating control collars, and proceeded to round up his horrible offspring.

-----------------------------------------------

"Personal log. About 7:30pm. I'm outside Keef's mom's house, watching through the living room window. Zim's kids are _brats_. Two minutes alone and they've caused at least a thousand dollars worth of damage."

Dib opened the window a bit so he could sneak his hand inside and wipe away some of the apple pie that one of the smeets had flung recklessly. Licking his fingers clean, he found that the pie was actually very good. He snuck his hand inside for more, giving him something else to do while he watched Zim run the room madly, directing his kids in the cleanup of the colossal mess they'd made while he was in the other room eating. With seventeen of them going at a time, it was actually moving pretty quickly. They'd already gathered all the spilled fish into auxiliary tanks and sucked most of the water off the floor using some sort of vacuum attachment that their little robot apparently had installed in its legs.

Suddenly, Dib realized that there were two other heads beside his, peering into the window alongside him. How long they'd been there he didn't know – their approach had gone completely unnoticed.

"Aw, man. Our Dad's, like, some creepy stalker or something." One of them said.

"Hey - ! I, ah, know how this looks, but –" Dib started, for the first time realizing how this actually would look to someone else. "I, ah, just want to talk to your Mom."

"Then why don't you use the front door?"

"Are you kidding? You Mom'd kill me if I just, y'know, walked up and asked to talk like some. . .normal person."

"Well how do you expect to talk to Mom if you're sitting out here?"

"I, ah. . .hadn't really thought of that." He was just. . .waiting, watching, like he'd done back when he was a kid. It just seemed so natural, so familiar that it had become almost nostalgic.

"O-kaay."

"Shhh – I think Mom's onto us." Said the other smeet. They both ducked down into the bushes.

Looking back up through the window, Dib saw Zim up on his spider legs, head turning madly in an effort to observe all of his kids. His brow was furrowed with suspicion – there _were_ only fifteen in the room and over the years he'd probably gotten pretty good at counting to seventeen.

"Vinn? Prad?" Called out Zim.

Behind Dib, the bushes rustled again as the smeets made their exit. Zim zeroed in on the movement like a hawk. Dib ducked just in time for the window to come flying open as Zim leapt out in hot pursuit of the errant smeets.

There was a rustle and the sharp buzz of a cattle prod.

"Ow! _Ow!!._"

"Reprimands class 3a for both of you!"

"Oh no, not the _box!" _ One smeet moaned.

"Come on, Mom – we didn't make that mess! It was all Wenn and Spoot –"

"Objection duly ignored. Now get in there and help with the water pickup. INCOMING!!!"

Dib heard Zim make a great heave, and overhead the two smeets sailed through the air into the open window.

Brushing off his hands, Zim stepped through the hedge towards the windowsill, presumably to pull himself up and make a more dignified entrance.

Impulsively, Dib grabbed his arm, seizing this chance before it slipped away.

"Zim!"

"_Dib! _What is the meaning of this GRABBING? Let go of me! _Now!_"

Dib let go of Zim's arm, but stepped over so that he was in between Zim and the window.

"Zim – wait. Don't go. Please, just stay for a minute!"

Zim rose on his spider legs and scuttled to and fro, looking for the opportunity to jump into the window, but Dib nudged it closed, and when he looked as thought Zim was willing to leap through the glass, he stretched his arms out and effectively blocked it.

"_Why_ in the name of all that's stinky would I stay for any length of time in. . ._your. . ._hideous. . .presence. GETOUTOFTHEWAY!!!"

When it was clear that Dib wouldn't, Zim made a dash away towards the front door, but Dib was able to grab one of his spider legs and bring him crashing to the ground. With his grip still on the leg, Dib crawled forward until he could reach Zim's arms, and pinned him to the ground.

"Please! Just five minutes! I only wanna to talk – then I'll go away, I promise!"

Zim gritted his teeth. "You're staining my dress, Dib-filth." He growled.

"Five. Minutes." Repeated Dib.

Zim scowled. "Then you'll go away?"

Dib nodded. "I swear."

Making a visible effort to calm himself, Zim lifted his chin. "Fine." He said.

As soon as Dib released his arms, Zim scuttled away from the human as fast as he could, but didn't retreat entirely. He stood up a few meters away from where Dib sat, pulling one of the com-pads from his belt to note the time.

"You've got four minutes fifty-one seconds, earth-stink." Stated Zim coldly while he brushed the dirt from his dress.

Dib crossed his legs, staying low to the ground in hopes of avoiding the gaze of the smeets in the house behind him, and also in the hope that Zim wouldn't be as intimidated by him as he might be if he were standing. Dib had over doubled his size since he'd met Zim way back in the day, but Zim was still. . .pretty short.

The blood was still pounding in Dib's ears from their little tussle – both because of the physical exertion and. . .other factors that seemed to be in operation whenever he got close to the small alien.

"I just want to, you know, talk with you. I was wondering if. . ." Suddenly feeling unsure of himself, Dib absently poked his finger into the dirt. "Well, I was wondering how you've been doing, these past few years. One of your kids on the way here said that you were tired, and strained."

"NONSENSE!! I am ZIM!! I have the energy of a THOUSAND. . . strained. . .things!" Zim declared. He crossed his arms and looked over at the window, where their offspring could be seen bouncing around the room with limitless vigor.

"My spawn can by a little. . .enthusiastic, but that's only fitting for soldiers of their age and class, born into the rank of invader. I couldn't have asked for more competent soldiers to carry on my INCREDIBLE genes. Supervision of their progress has been nothing less than a privilege." Zim pursed his lips. "With Keef's help I'm only actually required to oversee them twenty three hours out of twenty four. A trifle, really."

Dib nodded, a frown creeping onto his features. "Yeah. . .about that. I was sort of wondering. . .what's the deal with Keef? You'd do anything to keep him away when we were in grade skool. . .why let him hang around now? He's such a. . .weirdo."

Zim shrugged. "Unh-un. He isn't annoying as he was when he was younger – at least when he has something to do that shuts him up. To tell the truth, he just sort of. . .won't go away." He shrugged again.

"Watch this." Zim picked up a clod of dirt from the ground.

"Hey Keef!!!"

A short moment later Keef stuck his head out from the bathroom window on the second floor, looking around for Zim.

"Yeah, Zim?"

Zim flung the clod of dirt right into Keef's face.

"Ow!" Keef wiped off his face and looked down to where Zim was standing. "Hey, Zim – what was that for?"

"I dunno. I felt like it."

"Oh. Okay." Keef went back into the house.

Zim picked up another clump of dirt.

"Hey Keef!!"

"Yeah, Zim?" Keef poked his head out again.

Another clod of dirt, right in the kisser.

"Ow! Hey, why'd you do that?"

"I told you – I just sorta felt like it."

"Oh. Okay, then." Keef withdrew mildly.

Zim picked up another clump of dirt.

"Hey Keef!!"

Dib snickered and put his hand on Zim's arm.

"Okay – I get it. That's probably enough."

"Yeah, Zim?" Keef smiled down perkily towards Zim.

Rolling his eyes at Dib, Zim dropped the clump of dirt.

"Nothing. Go back inside and. . .help pick up glass."

Keef gave him a thumbs-up. "Sure thing, buddy. Hi, Dib!"

Brushing away Dib's hand, Zim shook his head.

"See what I mean?"

"Yeah. That's pretty weird." Dib sat back in the dirt. "But, I guess if he helps around the house and stuff, it's not too bad. It's good to hear that, you know, the kids aren't too much work."

Zim crossed his arms. "Hmmph. _Your _pitiful species doesn't understand the meaning of WORK."

Dib lifted his chin. _This _was bringing back some memories. "Oh yeah? Well at least _my _species isn't trying to forcibly enslave entire _universe_."

Zim sneered. "_Your _species hasn't even _found _the universe yet!"

"You just wait, Zim – someday you're going to get yourself strapped down to an autopsy table, and then we'll see whose species is better." Dib smiled smugly.

"When the armada comes, this planet will be turned into a giant coat-check stand, and all of it's inhabitants will be nothing but tall, drooling coat-lot attendants."

"Better tall and drooling than short and. . .short."

"I'm not as short as your head is BIG!!!"

"_Hey!!!_ I grew into my head!!"

"Says you!"

"That's right! Says _me!!_" Even Zim seemed to be enjoying himself. They were screaming insults so close into each other's faces that their foreheads were nearly touching.

"Green-skinned, war-mongering maniac!!"

"Stupid, squishy water-filled bag of inferiorness!!!"

A sudden unrestrainable impulse drove Dib to wrape one hand around the back of Zim's head and the other around his torso, drawing him forward that last few inches for their lips to meet.

_Ah._ That's what Dib had been looking for, that implacable desire that had dogged him since his first glimpse, no, the first thought of Zim that he'd allowed himself after so many years. Just that thought might have driven him out of his mind, but he'd been able to contain it, until just this moment.

_Zim_. . .

Dib let his hands roam across Zim's back, around his waist, up to caress the soft skin on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes to savor the taste. . .

Zim stood very still. When Dib opened his eyes, their lips still met softly. Zim stared him in the eye, expressionless.

"Zim. . ." Said Dib, finally. A rush of emotion overtook him and he lapsed into his old melodramatic speech pattern. He threw his arms around Zim. "My life is meaningless without you, Zim! I want us to be enemies again. No, I want us to be more than enemies. . .I want. . .I want to stop skulking around in windows. Following you like an animal. I want you to be you again, and me to be me again! I want us to be. . ." Dib tried to kiss him again, but Zim pulled his head aside at the last possible moment one of the smeets called out from inside the house.

"Mo-om!! Prad's making another mess!"

"Stay calm! Supervision will arrive shortly!!" Zim called out.

Slipping from Dib's grasp before he could react, Zim vaulted himself onto the windowsill.

Stumbling desperately after him, Dib reached the window just in time for Zim to slam it closed onto his already damaged head.

For the third time in the day, Dib was abruptly plunged into blackness.


	6. To Date or Not to Date

Author's Note: I have no excuse for the hideous lateness of this chapter. . .I beg for general forgiveness and mercy.

Also, to the anonymous reviewer who wanted a list of the smeet's names and their eye colour – their names will be listed in the next chapter. If you want them sooner, I would be very happy to send them to you by email, you'll just have to review again and leave your email addy, or contact me directly. I'm tickled pink that you like my story so much that you would draw a picture! :)

Chapter 5

Zim lifted his sore feet to rest on the computer console while he tallied the daily inventory damage and made an attaching supply requisition. Among the usual list of destruction, his spawn had also managed to break one of the main food conservation units on the storage level. It was amazing what they could do with only a few common spoons as makeshift tools. Zim hoped they could go the rest of the month without breaking any other major appliances, or they really wouldn't have enough to pay for a replacement.

Which reminded him – the 147th Inter-Galactic Bank of G'Toth was on the verge of another civil war over mortgage rates, which meant that there would probably be a 148th Inter-Galactic Bank of G'Toth within the next few days. These banking wars never lasted very long anymore – the laws of financial warfare had long since been honed to perfection by the many megalossal organizations in the known galaxy which made use of them. All it meant was that Zim would have to pull his operation out for about a week or risk being discovered by the post-war audits. And invest in a few thousand plots on one of the G'Tothan cemetery planets – there would be a dramatic rise in price soon, no doubt.

Supply requisition sent, Zim tossed the com-pad away, folded his arms, and rested his head back. He would deal with the G'Tothans later – right now he was just tired.

A mountain of dirty laundry encumbering his view, Keef stumbled in. He dumped the laundry into the clothing processor, waited for it to spew out new, cleaner laundry, and then sat down beside Zim to begin the arduous folding process.

"Keef?" Asked Zim, his arms still folded and his eyes closed.

"Yes, Zim?" Replied Keef, occupied with one of the smeets' cute little combat training smocks.

"I've been thinking about what your mother was blathering on about at supper. . ." Zim hiked up his dress a bit to scratch his thigh. "Tell me what you know about this whole. . .girlfriend/boyfriend business."

"Well. . ." Began Keef. If Zim had been watching he might have noticed a certain redness about Keef's cheeks. "It's. . .it's about boys and girls getting together and being. . .friends. Sort of, well, hanging around together – spending time together, and, um, dating, I guess. .."

Zim opened one eye. "Dating. . .that's the whole horrible process involving dinner and stink-movies and sex?"

Keef blushed even more. "Well, yeah. . .I guess so. I've never. . .I've never actually been on a date myself."

Zim snorted. "They're hideous, take my word for it. So. . .you mother led me to believe that this sort of thing is the. . .normal process of human development. That not-dating, that not having an opposite-gender friend is regarded as sort of. . .weird. Is this true? How much filthy _dating_ is required?"

Keef put down the piece of laundry he had in his hand and gave the subject a bit of thought. "Well. . ._some_ dating, I guess. Not required, maybe, but sort of, expected. I guess it's a little bit weird to not have a boyfriend or girlfriend, _ever_."

Zim sighed. "Ugh – so I guess that settles it. I'll have to dig up a suitable male to be my friend-boy."

Keef frowned. "Well, you don't _have _to date. I don't think you do, anyways. It might be _sort of _weird not to, but who cares what's normal, anyways?"

Zim uncrosses his arms and glared at Keef. "_I _ care."

Keef frowned into his lap, trying to build up the courage to speak. "Well – well I _don't!_" He said finally. "You don't need a boyfriend if you don't want one. All it would do is take you away to spend time with. . .someone else. I know _I'm _not gonna get a girlfriend because I. . .don't really think I need one. You're my friend – you're my best friend. And I. . .I don't. . .think I need anyone else." Keef fiddled with the piece of clothing in his hands.

"Eh?" Said Zim, who hadn't really been listening. Keef frowned again, shrugged and continued folding. Zim continued his contemplation of the monitors on the wall opposite.

A red light and an alarm went off on one of the panels – the viewscreens switched to monitor 4b. Smeet #12 – Ket – was awake and sneaking out of bed into the kitchen area.

"Oh no you don't, you little. . ." muttered Zim as he pressed the appropriate buttons on his console.

An automated monitor-bot shot the errant smeet with a dart full of sedatives – it fell over in its tracks and was unceremoniously tucked back into bed by one of the mechanical arms stationed on the ceiling.

Checking the other viewscreens for anomalies and computer malfunctions (the 'Ket incident' could have been simply a distraction from a major smeet coo), Zim put another security upgrade onto his agenda for tomorrow. The smeets seemed to learn something new every time they staged one of these minor rebellions – it was important to keep the monitoring equipment up to snuff to counter their insidious wiles. Especially since a handful of the smeets never actually went through the natural cycle of human sleep – they'd inherited enough Irken genes to be able to rely completely on their paks for energy. Zim just didn't have the energy himself to tend the little parasites for too long at a time and dosed those particular smeets with sedatives so that he could enjoy a little rest when he needed it. But the sedatives were started to become less and less effective as the smeets got closer to adolescence. . .

Sighing, Zim tossed away his daily routine scheduler and sat back down.

"So. . .continuing the subject from before. . ." Zim rubbed his chin. "_I_ won't rest until the world is convinced that I'm a normal human. There is no sacrifice too big for the great ZIM to make for his mission, and if that includes having a friend-boy then THAT is the sacrifice that will be MADE." Zim jabbed his finger in Keef's direction. "And I won't have any 'weird persons' in my entourage, either, so I suggest that you start dating too. Wait – make that an ORDER."

"No. I won't. I'll never date. I just won't." Keef said very softly, looking down into the laundry. In all the years of their acquaintanceship, Keef had _never _disgreed with Zim. Ever. But Zim realized it didn't matter much. Keef was a consummate doormat – sooner or later he'd get him to do whatever he wanted.

"Hmmph. We'll see." Zim said simply.

--------------------------------------

Later still that night, Zim lay in his own room, in bed, looking over at one of the screens hung on the wall that monitored the room downstairs where the smeets slept.

Nen was having a nightmare. He'd started tossing and turning only a few moments ago, mewling softly in his sleep. Zim felt a tremendous urge to. . .do something, though he had no idea what that might be. Just as Zim was about to reach over and buzz Keef, he arrived on the scene to gently wake Nen up. Crying, Nen latched onto Keef and they sat holding to each other for a minute or two before Keef tucked Nen back into bed. Folding Nen's hand in his own, Keef stayed to sit with him until he went back to sleep.

Keef was sleeping in a small cot at the end of the smeet's room tonight – it was his turn on nightmare duty. He and Zim switched off every night, to give Zim time to make night repairs and plan for the next day's syllabus. Most nights at least one of the smeets had a nightmare, though there were only a few, like Nen, who had them more than once a week. It frustrated Zim not to be able to do anything about it – both not to be able to prevent them, or be there when they happened. It was also frustrating to know that regulation required him to do nothing – as long as they were healthy and mentally stable, the emotional state of trainees wasn't even a consideration, according to the Irken edu-plug procedural manual. As their educational overseer, Zim's precious attention could be better spent elsewhere. On this particular night, he certainly didn't have the energy to deal with anything more strenuous than watching them from his monitor screen.

Ever since the smeets' birth, Zim's pak was no longer able to regulate his energy levels for extended periods. As a result, he suffered intermittent states of energy-dropout, when he was virtually comatose for a few hours at a time. Zim had made what repairs he could on his own, but he was missing key components and tools that were only kept on Irk, and he would have to make the long journey back to his home planet in order to get them – a journey he didn't the time or the resources to make.

Since the 'cold-sleep,' as he called it, only happened once or twice a week, and could usually be coordinated with human sleeping hours, Zim decided it was a livable condition. On a planet where the entire population spent a third of their lives in an unconscious state, Zim figured it wouldn't be too much of a disadvantage have to 'sleep' for about ten hours a week.

Zim looked up to the ceiling and tried to concentrate his attention away from Nen, who would do just fine in Keef's care, and to a few new distressing matters which had arisen earlier today.

Keef had brought up a surprisingly good point for someone so apparently brain-dead. Zim simply didn't have time to maintain any sort of friendship, with a boy or otherwise. Even Keef's time had become precious to him – Zim relied on Keef to help him tend the smeets, and couldn't afford to have him wandering off with some. . .horrible. . .girl.

And even if they weren't subject to such stringent time constraints, Zim couldn't think of anyone at all who would be suitable to spend their precious time with. Such a relationship would create too much risk of uncovering the secret of the smeet's alien genes. Someone who already knew would be preferable, but that made for a short list – the Dibsister, Gaz, Professor Membrane, and the _stupidhorriblefilthy _stink_-_Dib himself.

Zim shuddered.

Zim had never imagined that it would be so _good_ to see the Dib-filth again. To be able to spar again with his nemesis. . .for a few moments he almost felt like his old self again. His _old _self.

It had been like stepping into a former life – back in a time before all this whole frantic mess of broken appliances, emotional outburst, piles and piles of schedule pads and lists and rotation trackers. . .and let's not forget the dirty diapers of only five years ago – _oh the filth and horror!!_

It was good, for one moment, to be ZIM again, soldier of the Irken empire, sent on a mission to invade and conquer the horrible ball of dirt known as the earth. Dib had reminded him of that – for a moment.

Then he'd gone and. . .kissed him.

Zim had never been so scared. _This _was no honest attack, no military maneuver that he could counter, not even one of those half-clever verbal jibes that the Dib-stink was so fond of. This was. . .something else.

To Zim, first and foremost, it had been a reminder of the last time Dib had used such a procedure against him. It had been the act that had precipitated the battle that Zim now waged day and night.

Zim had in the long course of his lifetime become accustomed to battles involving blaster cannons, battle-mechs, high-speed fighter vehicles, complicated maneuvering that amounted to one thing; self on mission versus enemy.

This. . .parenting business wasn't sitting well with Zim at all. It disturbed him, on a fundamental level.

The smeets were his mission – their well-being was the objective. The enemy that was the obstacle to this objective. . .was too large and confusing to comprehend. The humans were of course part of the enemy – that had always been clear. They loomed everywhere, and since his children had no other basis for comparison, it was sometimes difficult to prove to the smeets how _horrible _they actually were. But only sometimes.

The enemy also consisted of scraped knees, nightmares, bruised feelings when they fought among themselves, anger, sadness, fear, loneliness, and the countless hoards of hurt that Zim couldn't always shield them from.

Confusing too was the fact that his battle was _their _battle – the battle to grow and progress into strong, capable soldiers, able to help him conquer Earth. Zim could scream and prod and toss out reprimands all he liked, but ultimately he couldn't just force them to be what he wanted them to be. Most of the physical injury they brought upon themselves through sheer foolishness and childish rebellion – the smeets themselves sometimes became their own enemy. And sometimes when he prodded too far, with just a look they could make him believe that maybe _he _was the enemy.

And the one thing that had been clear since his first day on this pitiful rock – _Dib_ was the enemy. His presence here made itself felt in a myriad of ways, as tangible as the extra finger on some of his childrens' hands, as subtle as a glance, or more likely a glare, or an inflection that would bring that horrible Dib-filth back, staring at him through the eyes of his children. The smeets were like Zim in many ways, but sometimes just the simplest act, some small behavior, disturbed him to his core. It was as thought Dib were there, taunting him. His precocious, rambunctious, parasitic, infuriating, _perfect _children.

Zim didn't want Dib to be around to influence them. He had never asked for Dib's help, and his pride would certainly never allow it. But to know that he was out there, living carefree, while he was here burning away what felt like his entire life's energy. . .and that after everything Dib could still lay claim to those children and call them _his_.

. . .It wasn't fair. Something was wrong. Dib had played some horrible trick on him.

Beyond the fact that they'd both participated, that kiss a long time ago had been one of the first moves in a war that Zim was _losing._

Zim rubbed one eyeball grumpily and reached over to the portable communicator panel on the bedside table.

"Greetings!"

"Hello? Dibsire?"

"You've reached the voicemail for the incredible PROFESSOR MEMBRANE. If you're calling to report a national emergency that can only be solved through SCIENCE, press 1. If you're calling to report an _international_ emergency that can only be solved through SCIENCE, press 2. . ."

Zim pursed his lips and waited through the various options. . .imminent plague outbreak, natural disasters avalanche through volcanic eruptions, TOAST shortage, backache, bellyache, sore toe, the 'direct line' reserved for his children that Zim happened to know connected to another voice recorder (which would be checked every week, GUARANTEED). Finally there was a series of sharp beeps, and the click of a recording machine.

"Dibsire! DIBSIRE!! There is no use hiding from ZIM!! Do you think to SLEEP while I'm in need of ADVICE?!? I won't allow it!! Pickupthephone!!!! PICKITUP!!!! You WILL comply with _ZIM!!. . ."_

The com screen announced an incoming transmission, soon replacing the answering service picture of Professor Membrane in his famous 'thumbs-up to SCIENCE' pose with an active feed of Professor Membrane in his lab, busily pouring phosphorescent chemicals from beaker to beaker.

"Ah, the mother of my grandchildren! Is there any emergency with our little co-genetic sample?"

"Of course it's an emergency!! It's an emergency concerning their _future safety_!" Zim announced, pounding his fist on the blankets in emphasizement. "_I. . ._have a question!" Zim fidgeted a little now that he'd made the announcement. "Do I. . .still have the capacity to bear offspring?" He asked rather timidly.

"To _bear _offspring? Ha ha! Certainly not! The strain of it would be the MESSY END of you! And besides, you used up all of your eggs during the last. . .incident. Of which we will NEVER speak again." The Professor shuddered at the memory.

"I see. So there's no fear of what happened last time if I, say, need to have _sex _again?"

"Absolutely none."

Zim nodded. "Excellent. In that case, I have another question. I've got a few hours to spare next Tuesday – if you're free I was thinking that we might get together for dinner, a movie, and a little sex."

The Professor stared at him for a moment, then coughed. "Even though my hearing is reinforced beyond normal human capacity by technology of my own design, I'm going to have to ask you to repeat that because it seems my higher brain process has refused to accept what you just said."

Zim sighed. "I was proposing a _date_. You, me, some earth slop, big-screen brain-rot, and a round of horizontal wigglies." Zim demonstrated with a few explicit hand gestures. "Tuesday. Acceptable?"

Professor Membrane stared at him for a few minutes more. Neither Zim nor the rest of the planet's current inhabitants were aware that one of the greatest scientific minds to ever grace the earth's crust was now in the midst of a terrible battle to keep itself from imploding.

Zim folded his arms. "It has been brought to my attention that it's about time I was _dating _again, and despite your hideous inadequacies you seem to be the most convenient option."

The Professor finally shook himself out of his stupor. "I. . .see." He answered. "Well, not that I'm not flattered, and also HORRIFIED, by your offer, but I'm afraid that the _entirety of my being,_ from my grey matter to my pink-ish-coloured flesh, is devoted to LADY SCIENCE. And I must say that I've NEVER BEEN so glad for it."

"Well, that's quite a shame. So, I don't suppose you know whether or not your daughter would be amenable to any such activities with Keef, would you?"

"I'm almost certain that that particular avenue of genetic propagation will remain closed – in short, I'm quite sure her answer would be NO."

Zim pursed his lips. "Well, Dibsire, thank you for a slightly informative, but mostly useless conversation. I'll just. . .be going now."

"You're welcome. I too, must take leave of this encounter, so that I may wipe all traces of its memory from my brain cells lest I go INSANE."

Zim nodded. "Zim out."

Tossing away the communicator panel, Zim resumed his earlier brooding.

The most obvious answer now to both his own and Keef's lack-of-dating-ness was simply to date each other. This, however, would still require some sort of sneaky plan, considering Keef's odd determination not to date anyone, and Zim thought that he might at least try his other available option first.

There was also the matter of Dib. Zim had the suspicion that _he _wouldn't say no to another round of horizontal wigglies, but for reasons unknown (and unquestioned – Zim wasn't in the habit of examining his own motives) the idea was rather distasteful to him. Besides, that would mean giving his enemy something that he _wanted_, and that just wouldn't do. Zim even found some pleasure in this small reaffirmation of their rivalry.

So – sneaky plan it was. Very do-able. Zim could think up a sneaky plan in his sleep. Which was a good thing because only a minute or two after ending his conversation with Professor Membrane, Zim felt his temperature drop and slipped rudely into unconsciousness.


	7. Blind Date, Zim Style

Author's Note:

Yes, this is the chapter in which all of the smeets are named in birth order (And yes, I'm going to finish this story if it takes me until I'm thirty). It bothers me when original characters take over a story, and I'm deathly afraid of creating Mary/Marty-S(t)ues, so I've tried, as much as possible, to keep any one of the smeetsfrom standing out from the others. Think of them as ZIM'S HORDE.

I've been feeling a lot of anti-Keef sentiment since I started the second part of this story, which doesn't surprise me – he is portrayed as, well, kind of creepy in canon. Still, I've developed a sort of a soft spot for him. What can I say? He's always struck me as genuinely good-natured. Completely delusional maybe, but so is everyone on the show in their own special way. I like Keef. (Which doesn't mean I don't like Dib. I like them both – I just think Dib has a lot of growing up to do.)

This chapter was co-written by The Unsquickable Kid, to whom I owe many thanks and squidgies for helping me through the dry spell. Also, thanks everyone who reviewed – every word was a loving poke to my spine, encouraging me to write more. Super-duper special thanks to Peplos Kore (AKA Flying Metal Child – go read her stuff now!), who poked the hardest.

Chapter 6

The smeets were attending skool today.

Zim wanted them to learn as much as they could about Earth culture, to better help them blend in with the populace which they would eventually conquer, and also (and most importantly) to give himself a few hours rest while they were away.

Since the smeets' battle training schedule was rather rigorous, however, Zim could only spare to send them to skool two or three times a week. At first, the skool truant-bots had had quite a problem with this lackadaisical attendance. However, once the smeets proved they could make top marks even without the benefit of as much teaching time as their peers, and once Zim started to hassle the skool officials as they had NEVER been HASSLED BEFORE, the truant-bot visits ceased.

Actually, the smeets' good marks were for the most part due to the fact that they had learned how to hack into the skool mainframe and change their grades. They hadn't attended a single class since their first week of skool.

This wasn't, however such a big loss. Due to budget cuts, the skool board had started doubling up teaching levels back in Dib and Zim's skooldays. Now there was only one teacher afforded per skool, and the one teacher who happened to loom from her holographic podium over every single classroom of _this_ skool was Ms. Bitters, whose spoken vocabulary now consisted a full 53 of the word 'doom'.

The smeets were learning about their home planet at their own pace, in their own, way – reading their textbooks in rotation and downloading the knowledge from each other through a port in their paks, a sort of modified version of the Great Download on their home planet.

It was an old skool myth that Ms. Bitters's body still actually existed in a glass tube somewhere deep in the bowels of the skool and was the original source of the projected hologram. The smeets had spent the past year exploring the depths of the skool building and had yet to find her. Neither had their searches into the skool mainframe discovered any sort of identity program that was the other myth of her continued existence. Ms. Bitters seemed simply to exist upon her own malice, to spread terror and despair into the hearts of successive young generations.

If it could be said that Ms. Bitters reigned supreme throughout her classrooms, it could be said that Zim's smeets reigned supreme throughout the rest of the skool. The smeets never set foot into active feed classrooms anymore. They conducted their affairs in the hallways and unused places of the skool while Zim recuperated from their presence for a few hours. Besides hacking into the skool mainframe to alter their grades, they had also been able to hack into the hall monitor brain-control mainboard. All hall monitors were now programmed to stop and bow on sight, responding to any of the smeets' verbal commands like trained dogs.

Somewhere, deep in their little hall-monitor brains, what was left of the hall monitors' natural thought processors had begun to recognize the sound of the smeets' feet as they came down the hall. It wasn't a hard sound to miss. The smeets always traveled together in skool, seventeen at a time. Some of them didn't even bother with feet, but traveled using the insectoid legs of their paks, making a metallic scuttering sound on the hallway floor as they marched along.

Like the rest of the skool student population, the hall monitors had finally learned that the best thing to do when faced with an approaching hive of Irken youth was to run. . .just run.

Today the skool masses fled from the corridors leading up to eastern-most wing of the third floor – one of the unused science classes. It was here that the smeets held their bi-weekly meetings, which they'd instituted late in their second year of life, after the philosopher smeet Narb had made the observation: "Without order, there is chaos, and chaos brings. . .well, all sorts of nasty stuff."

Because while Zim's smeets were a mass of ungovernable youngsters to the rest of the world, within their own ranks they kept a strict order that would rival or surpass any number of earth governments.

Meticulous records of all of their meetings and decisions were made, and on this particular day their records indicated thusly:

Meeting # 345

Tuesday, March 20, year 6 AB (After Birth)

Chair: Fosk (10)

Secretary: Nen (11)

**1.** Attendance, in birth order: 1 - Zoon, 2 - Senn, 3 - Vinn, 4 - Narb, 5 - Kip, 6 - Natt, 7 - Plunk, 8 - Spoot, 9 - Ros, 10 - Fosk, 11 - Nen, 12 - Ket, 13 - Goom, 14 - Vip, 15 - Mirk, 16 - Prad, 17 - Wenn

**2.** Minutes of Meeting 344 read. Amendments: None. Minutes passed.

**3. **Minutes of Emergency Meeting 344b: What to do about the Dib, who keeps trying to make awkward conversation?

Motion by Goom(13): Designate conversation to rotational task delegate. Seconded by Fosk(10) Vote: 3 For, 2 Against, 1 Abstain. Carried.

Results: Question by Dib: How are you doing (Happy, Healthy, Well-adjusted)? Answer: Well. Question by Dib: How is your Mom? Answer: Well. Question by Dib: Is Mom keeping Keef as a maid? Answer: No.

Analysis: Dib is curious about Us and Mom and Keef. Possibly some resentment towards Mom.

Amendments: None. Minutes passed.

**4. **Unfinished Business

4(a). Committee report to determine biological parentage.

Committee members: Senn(2).

Results – Verbal conversation and DNA testing confirm that the Dib is the second genetic contributor to Our existence.

Analysis: Dib/Dad acknowledges Our existence, but hasn't had time in his studies for Us. Dib/Dad harbours resentment towards Mom (?).

4(b). Committee report to determine Mom's response time.

Committee members: Vinn(3) and Prad(16).

Results – distraction class 5 produced 6.3 seconds response time.

Analysis: Class 5 distraction would produce 75.5 meters distance between Us and Mom based on 11.9 meter/sec rate.

4(c). Committee report to determine nighttime response time.

Committee member: Ket(12)

Results – nighttime distraction class 1 (22:45hrs) produced 1.2 seconds response time.

Analysis: Nighttime (22:45hrs) escape with class 1 distraction unfeasible.

**5. **New Business

5(a). What to do about Dib/Dad.

Motion by Spoot(8): Dib/Dad is a hostile Human threat. Kill him.

Seconded by Wenn(17)

Vote: 4 For. 5 Against. 8 Abstain. Motion dismissed.

Motion by Kip(5): Dib/Dad is an unknown. Determine committee for study/research on Dib/Dad.

Seconded by Vip(14)

Vote: 6 For. 3 Against. 8 Abstain. Motion passed.

5(b). Committee for study of Dib Dad.

Rotational members: Vinn (3) double rotation, Mtg. 344, Narb (4)

Method: Use distraction class 10(Skool) to Escape Mom, determine Dib/Dad's whereabouts through Grampy's database.

Objectives: Information (general) retrieval. Specifics: Attitudes towards Us, Mom, Keef, Grampy, and Auntie Gaz. Specifics: Modus Operandi.

5(c). Committee to determine Mom's response time.

Rotational members: Kip(5), Plunk(7)

Method: New Distraction Class – matter disruptor bomb constructed from household cleaning chemicals (Natt, Fosk).

Objectives: Determine response time/distraction distance.

**6. **Motion by Zoon(1): Meeting 345 close.

Seconded by Kip(5).

Meeting 345 Adjourned

"Zim?"

"What?"

"Where are we going?  
Zim sighed "I told you – it wouldn't be a fun game if I told you about it. So just. . .shut up. And pretend you're having fun."

"I am having fun! It's just that, well, all of my blood has been sort of rushing to my head, and I think I might pass out in a little while. I was hoping that we might get where we're going soon so that I could. . . .stop being tied up."

"You'll stop being tied up when I say you can stop being tied up! Got it, Keef? Keef!"

Keef had passed out.

"Oh of all the STUPID. . .!" With a violent spray of puddlewater on some unfortunate passing pedestrians, Zim pulled the vootcruiser to the side of the road. The jolt had tossed Keef's chair almost as forcefully as Zim had tossed it himself when he'd loaded the bound and blindfolded Keef into the back of the vootcruiser. Keef's chair now lay on its side, so it wasn't too hard to push him upright again.

Lifting Keef's chin from where it lay resting on his chest, Zim slapped him across the cheeks a few times.

"Wake up! WAKE UP! How dare you be unconscious for the execution of my sneaky plan!"

It wasn't so much a sneaky plan as just a hasty, desperate plan. While attempting once again to convince Keef that he needed to date, Zim got so frustrated with his refusal that he just hit him over the head with Gir. After blindfolding and binding him to a chair, he loaded Keef into the vootcruiser with the intention of just simply _forcing _him into a date.

Keef gurgled.

Zim snorted and decided to leave him be. Keef would realize the BRILLIANCE of his plan soon enough.

Climbing back into the driver's seat of the Vootcruiser, Zim ignored the angry pedestrian waving his fist beside the driver's side window.

There was a drive-in theatre not far from them, on the outskirts of the city. It would be empty at this time of day, of course, but Zim had equipped the vootcruiser with a mobile film projector and had packed plenty of food. They would be going on a picnic of sorts. It wasn't far now.

Over the years, Keef had grown accustomed to long periods of isolation, neglect, and imprisonment. Mainly from his Aunt Fay, who used to babysit him as a child. He was never abused, though, far from it. Aunt Fay just had more important things to do than look after a helpless child. Bingo, for example. For his protection, he was often tied to things…chairs, pipes, dogs, cars, whatever was around, so that he wouldn't get into trouble. It never occurred to Aunt Fay, on these occasions, that Keef wouldn't know how to get into trouble if you gave him a stick of dynamite and a lighter. In fact, people were often tying Keef to things, for no good reason, and he had become quite accustomed to the sensation.

Keef's smiled as he felt the familiar pressure of ropes against his skin, pressing his arms against his sides. He was happy that his captor, whoever it was, had been thoughtful enough to give his arms some circulation. The _last_ time he was tied up, he had had to endure the agonizing numbness and pain of limb-death, made all the more painful because he was too polite to complain. He also noticed, with a degree of relief, that the ropes were made of nylon, and not the rougher, less loving hemp that he was used too. Such care and consideration implied fondness, and Keef could only hope that he was in the delightful clutches of…

"Keef!" cried a voice in the blackness. It was only now that he realized he was wearing a blindfold, and not suffering a spell of hysterical blindness, which would have been embarrassing. Keef wiggled his nose, feeling the sumptuous delight of…was that velvet?

"Why are you grinning, Keef?" said the voice. It was basso, but tinny, like someone talking through a tuba.

"Zim?" asked Keef, "is that y- Ow!" he yelped as a powerful electric jolt surged through his pants.

"No. I am not, I repeat NOT Zim!" cried the voice. "Zim, uh…whoever that is. . .left you with me. I am SOMEONE ELSE entirely!" it amended.

"Ok, who are you?" asked Keef, and got another electric jolt through his pants. He coughed as his heart re-started and thought of what his mother always said – it was better than a pit full of alligators, or Howler monkeys. That always cheered him up.

"Shut up and eat your food." Commanded the voice.

"What fo-" asked Keef just as some kind of tube was shoved into his mouth. The tube squirted something down his throat, something thick and salty. The tube was withdrawn.

"Was that steak?" asked Keef, chewing thoughtfully. "Y'know, that's how a mamma bird feeds her babies, with the food all mashed up like that. Probably not steak tho-" he choked as he was force-fed another delicious morsel. "Unless it was a really big bird, or it lived near a grocery store…" he continued, suppressing his gag-reflex. "I always wished I could be a mamma bird, or a chic, or an egg." He coughed.

"I declare this meal ended!" the voice announced. Keef heard a scuttling from in front of him, and the sound of hydraulics, something being moved into place…

"Time for the movie!" cried the voice.

Keef blinked as the blindfold was whipped off of his head. A brace now fastened his head in place and blinders prevented him looking either to the left or to the right. In front of him was a pane of glass and a large screen.

And then there was light. In movie form. It was horrible, something about spaceships and princesses and exploding planets, and looked old as mold to boot. He reflected that this was perhaps the best time he'd ever had tied to a chair, which was saying a lot. The tube was reinserted periodically, and blasted hot, buttery popcorn down Keef's throat.

Zim eyed his captive. A lesser mind, seeing someone tied to a chair with long, phallic objects inserted into their mouth, might have thought the scene somehow suggestive, but not _Zim_! Such lurid thoughts were arranging themselves into _revolting_ premonitions of the night to come as he watched the dating scenario progress. He pressed a button on his console, from which he oversaw the evening, and a mechanical hand with a hankie dabbed lovingly at the sides of Keef's mouth. He turned a dial, and the hand dabbed point-two-six percent more lovingly. Perfect.

Being for the past six years a single mom, Zim had now become accustomed to being prepared for every eventuality. And because Zim was Zim, he took it upon himself to be prepared for _EVERY _eventuality. Should arise the sudden need to, say, tie up a potential boy-friend and force feed nutrients into his belly and earth entertainment into his brain, no one would be more prepared than the ingenious ZIM.

"Keef!" Zim said into his specially built mouthpiece, which was, in fact, a French Horn, and not a Tuba, as Keef had earlier surmised, but which Zim had no way of knowing, anyway. Had he known of Keef's innermost thoughts concerning the nature of his vocal distortion, however, he would have sniggered. He sniggered anyway. Heh.

"Are you enjoying the movie?" He read off of a portable data screen. He'd done his homework for this date – the dialogue had been specially scripted and prepared.

"Oh I sure am. I really liked the par-"

"Yes! I also hate it. The fat man on TV gave it _two_ thumbs, but I would gladly remove seven of his digits to silence it – Movie off!" Zim droned.

"Uh. O.K. then." said Keef.

"Would you like to walk me home?" read Zim.

"Well, the thing is, I'm kinda tied to a chair now."

"Flowers? For me?" squealed Zim mechanically, "They will go well with my pretty dresses and yard."

"Oh. Um…glad you like them. Hey, I was wonder-"

"Would you like to come in for some coffee?" asked Zim.

"I don't like caffeine, it makes me jittery. And I'm tied to a chair!" explained Keef.

"What do you mean, 'prove that I love you'?" read Zim. This human dating ritual was stupid.

"Aw forget it!" Zim barked, and removed the blindfold to look into Keef's disturbingly large eyes. "I am ZIM! This has been a _date_ all along, a date with _Zim!_" he said. "All of your pathetic objections have been for NOTHING!"

"Zim…wow…I mean…all this time it was _me_ you wanted to date? You could have just told me. . .I _never _would have thought you would want to date _me._ I just didn't think. . ." said Keef, tears welling up in great heaping droplets of joy.

"Heh heh. Yes, you can be thick sometimes," said Zim, looking away. Humans are _so revolting_. "Well, look at the time, time for sex!" he said, and hopping back into the driver's seat, wrenched the vootcruiser into gear and started back to the base.

"Time for. . .what?" Asked Keef, before his chair tipped over once again.

Dib's jaw hung open, a single strand of silvery drool dropped from the corner of his mouth, like an apathetic bungie jumper. He'd been following Zim since this morning, his over-taxed skull this time encased in a protective football helmet, and his paranoid compunction seemed to be paying off. He twitched, trying to process what had just happened, and what was going on inside his head. Two thoughts clamored to be heard, comically shoving each other in a stooges-esque manner.

"Zim is dating Keef!" one shouted, trying to get Dib's attention. "I like toast!" shouted the other. It was a testament to Dib's addled state of mind that both thoughts vied for his attention simultaneously. Hey, if the mother of your estranged alien-hybrid children decided to have sex with the lamest specimen of human kind you could think of, see how well you'd react. Huh? Huh!

A nervous shiver ran down Dib's spine as the realization of what had just happened made its way from his brain to his feet and back again. He winced as the realization returned, fresh from his feet; a little older, and not a lot wiser. He wanted toast.

It was then that he noticed a decided heft to his head. This was nothing new, of course, as his freakishly large head weighed a freakishly large amount. He thought for a moment that he was going to faint, two large aqua eyes descended into his field of view.

Gir dropped down from his perch atop Dib's head, never removing his unblinking gaze from the human's eyes. "Guess how long I been up there." Gir whispered, as if Guinness was on the way.

"Go. Away." murmured Dib, unable to suppress his frustration.

"No. Gueeeeeeeeesssss." Moaned the robot plaintively.

"I don't care! I need you to leave. Now."

"Since last Tuesday." said Gir, leaning in as if sharing the greatest secret in the world since sliced toquitos. "I built a nest!" he pointed to a small, thatched roof hut atop Dib's head. Dib brushed the ramshackle building off of his cranium. It wafted to the ground, having been constructed mainly out of waffle scraps and pipe-cleaners. The little robot whistled softly as his tiny house fell to earth. Then he yelled and jumped into the bushes, chasing a wild acorn.

Dib was just as glad he'd left. He was in no emotional state to deal with insane robot henchmen right now.

"I have to stop this UNHOLY union!" said Dib out loud, taking a small satisfaction in mentally crossing off one of his 'things to say before I die' items. "I'll need a distraction. . ._toast_ maybe. Who can resist the call of _toast_? Then, when we're alone, I'll. . .I'll. . .give him a piece of my mind! Now…is there any way I could explain more of my fiendish plan out loud? Nope? Good. Off I go!" and off he went, trailing his long black coat behind him. Little did he suspect that someone was watching from the bushes! Bwahahahaha!

Dib jumped behind the bushes, ready to pounce on the watchers he was sure were there. There was only Gir, sleeping peacefully amongst the remains of the defeated acorn. Dib slinked off, snickering to himself.

"What an idiot." Said smeet #3 – Vinn, polishing off a bag of graham crackers.

"Agreed," Replied smeet #4 – Narb, watching the aforementioned idiot retreat into the distance. "But we should still be wary of this one. _Only a fool leaves an enemy at their back_…Sun Tzu, 'The Art of War,' Random House: New York."

"Uh huh. Whatever you say. You should really try some of these donuts man…"

"I don't think you're taking the situation as seriously as you might, comrade." Said Smeet 4.

"Well, it's not like _we_ can do anything about him, you know, without the others." Replied Smeet 3.

"Quite right, quite right. An emergency teleconference meeting must be held."

Smeet 4 sighed, shrugged, and ate another donut while Smeet 3 produced a portable communicator from its pak.

Back at the skool, in one of the delapitated gymnasiums of the North Wing, the other smeets were not altogether surprised when they heard of their biological father's sneakiness. There were a few minutes of discussion amongst themselves in smaller groups before it was decided that an emergency meeting must be held.

After the formalities of roll call, etc, the new business of what to do about Dib came up for discussion.

There was the usual chorus of 'Who Cares?', countered by '_We_ Care!', countered by 'Why?', which led into the settlement of various betting pools over when and how Keef and their mom would finally get together (being their father's kids, they could be very observant at times).

When talk of betting monies had died down, one of the smeets stepped forward and plugged the notepad it had been quietly working on into one of the nearby computer terminals. A screen blinked to life, showing a simulation of the situation as the smeet saw it.

"Okay – here's Mom and Keef. And here's the Dib-Dad. And here's Us." Explained the Smeet (#14 – Vip), pointing to the small pixilated images on the screen. "Now, as it is, Mom has Keef to help out with Us, and everyone's relatively happy. But the Dib-Dad obviously wants to take Keef away for himself. . ." (being Zim's kids, the smeets could be remarkably blind to things they didn't want to see, and the fact that Dib might actually still have want-y feelings for their Mom just never crossed their minds)

The sim-Dib snatched the sim-Keef away off the screen, leaving the sim-Zim alone with the sim-Smeets.

"And if he gets what he wants, the balance would be broken, and, well, it would mean a lot of trouble."

Large teardrops began to fly out of the sim-Zim's eyes as the sim-Smeets swarmed around him like flies.

The other smeets nodded sagely. Except one, who pointed out, "Hey – that's not how Mom would realistically react!"

"Oh yeah." Said Smeet 14, who made some adjustments to the personality algorithms in the simulation.

On the screen, the pixellated Zim stopped crying and began to get angry. Very angry. He waved his arms and stomped his feet. Flames began to spew from eyes and his mouth, consuming everything – the simulation showed the city going up in flames, then the continent, then the whole planet. Finally the computer screen melted in on itself in a shower of sparks and smoke.

The smeets gasped.

If there was one thing the smeets feared in all of the world, one thing that kept them from running completely amok, one force that they believed in as all-consuming, it was their mother's anger.

"Right. Orders received. Vinn and Narb out." Smeet #3 pulled its communicator back into its pak.

"Let's roll, Mini-moose-dude." Said Smeet #4.

Minimoose squeaked. He did the best he could to look out for Zim's kids when they took unplanned excursions like this, and if that meant giving them a ride once in awhile, well, at least they were safer with him around, weren't they?

Once, as a supplemental science project, Grampy Membrane and two of the smeets had developed a device that could remotely track the location of any living human on the planet. Neat, huh? It was this device that the two smeets consulted now. Hopping onto Minimoose's back, they sped up to catch their biological father.

Dib's cab was stuck in traffic. He had managed to catch the cab quickly enough to keep only a few blocks away from Zim's bizarrely disguised vehicle, but now that traffic had slowed to a crawl, Zim was clearly getting impatient. He kept cheating by hopping forward _over _the traffic, something that Dib's cab couldn't yet do. Gritting his teeth, Dib stared at Zim's voot-van as though he could keep it still through the sheer force of his eyeballs.

It was then that he noticed there were two kids riding a floating moose just outside of his window. Dib thought that both the kids and the moose looked familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd seen them before.

One of the kids was eating a doughnut. The other was signaling to Dib to roll down his window. Dib did so out of sheer curiosity.

"What's this all about?" Asked Dib stupidly.

The doughnut-eating kid pulled out some strange kind of gun, aimed carefully at Dib's face, and pulled the trigger.

Dib felt a solid SMACK.

Then Dib found himself in heaven.

Sweet, sugary-TOAST heaven, that is. He was covered in the stuff – there were slices plastered to his face, his head, his chest. It flowed onto his lap and the seat around him. SO. . .MUCH. . .TOAST!

Professor Membrane had had to remove his last line of TOAST ™ from the market because of its massively addictive properties. He'd perfected it past the point of perfection – it made people smarter, stronger, happier, and increased the strength of their bone structure and immune systems. . .but once they started, all people wanted to do was sit around and eat TOAST ™. They forgot about their jobs, their families, their very names in some cases.

The toast that was now covering Dib seemed to be some form of super-enhanced TOAST, beyond anything even Professor Membrane would dare create.

And he's gotten it in his mouth.

All the cabby could hear were the _awesome_ sounds of eating coming from the backseat. In the rearview mirror he could see flecks of sticky toast flying hither and yon.

"Hey Mac," Said the cabby. "We're coming up to an intersection. . .which way did you want me to go again?"

"Hnnhnn. . .mmmhhhnn…mmmm…" Was all the reply he received. The cabby shrugged and took a left. The guy had already handed him enough bread to get a free ride across the city and back. What he did in the backseat was his own business, as long as he got all of the sugar off the plastic-covered seats. Which, judging by the way that guy was licking, wouldn't be a problem.

Keef rubbed his chafed wrists as Zim led him past the vootcruiser bay into a small area at the end of the attic that he'd separated from the rest of the floor to be his room.

Keef looked around. He'd never actually been allowed into the room where Zim slept. It was small and cluttered, with monitor screens hanging on every wall to keep an eye on the smeets when they slumbered. There was a low bed in one corner and a table in the opposite, piled high with portable computer pads. Keef picked one up to look at it – it was a detailed report on the educational progress of smeet #11 – Nen.

Zim pressed a button on a wall console nearby to turn the screens off. Next the lights were dimmed.

When Keef turned around, Zim had already undressed himself to down to this waist and was now sitting on the bed, removing his boots.

"Well, don't just stand there, moron. Take off your clothes."

After pulling his jaw closed, Keef clumsily began to remove his own shirt. By the time he actually managed to pull it over his head, Zim was completely undressed. Keef's breath stopped for a second and he made a little squeak of surprise. Zim pulled out his lenses and put them on a nightstand by the bed. His wig followed.

Half bent over to take off his socks, Keef forgot was he was about to do and fell over onto the floor.

"Well? What's the matter?"

Keef only stared. Zim snorted in exasperation and got up. He knelt in front of Keef, who was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"You are so _stupid_. I'm surprised you've lived this long without accidentally drowning in a puddle of your own drool." Zim began to undress Keef himself, yanking off his socks and then shuffling forward to undo the belt of his pants.

Keef reached out and gingerly touched Zim's shoulder. Zim shrugged away from the contact, and having finished undoing Keef's belt, gripped the waistband of his pants and pulled them all the way off of his legs.

When Zim stepped forward again to reach for the underwear, Keef finally found his senses and jumped up to his feet. He took a step back, blushing furiously.

"Fine. You can take off your own underwear." Zim crossed his arms.

Keef shuffled from one foot to the next, staring down fixedly at the floor. "Why?" Keef finally got the courage to ask.

"Why what?"

"Why. . .take off my underwear?"

Zim rolled his eyes. "_Because_, I've decided that, to maintain a normal relationship, we should be having sex by now."

Keef blinked stupidly.

"Geez, you really are thick. I _mean_, we're going to have sex. Right now."

Keef nodded.

"Oh." Then comprehension seemed to dawn. "_Oh!"_ Keef's face, if possible, got even redder.

"Well?" Zim tapped his foot impatiently.

Keef shyly lifted his eyes to look at Zim, then looked away again. He turned around, and with what seemed to be a Herculean effort, took off his underwear.

Hesitantly Keef turned back to face Zim, his hands cupping his crotch and his eyes averted.

Zim stepped over to the bed and gestured impatiently to Keef, who followed with a nervous cough and sat down. Still standing, Zim was now at equal height with Keef. He stepped closer to kiss him. At first pressing in hungrily, Keef soon pulled back, blushing.

"I don't know what to do."

Zim snorted. "Of course you don't."

He reached between them and pulled away Keef's hands.

End of Chapter 6

Author's note: Guess whaaaaaat? I'm not going to risk the small but not-insignificant chance of having my story removed from so the NC-17 portion of this story won't be posted here. Someday I plan to post the whole thing to but as you all know, it usually takes me awhile to get around to doing the things I plan. . .so. . .anyone who wants to read the sex scene immediately following this chapter now (as opposed to next year) will have to email me with feedback.

Mwa. .mwa. . .MWAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!


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